Where The Rubber Meets The Road

This is a short one, but it springs to mind whenever I am called to duty.

The itsy bitsy spider
Crawled up the water spout.
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out.
Out came the sun
And dried up all the rain,
And the itsy bitsy spider heard the horrible shriek of my wife as she ran away, and five minutes later, I killed it with a paper towel.

The End.

This song is incredibly annoying. Perhaps that explains the ending.

The wheels on the bus go round and round,
round and round,
round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round,
all through the town.

The wipers on the bus go, Swish, swish, swish;
Swish, swish, swish;
Swish, swish, swish.
The wipers on the bus go, Swish, swish, swish,
all through the town.

The horn on the bus goes, Beep, beep, beep;
Beep, beep, beep;
Beep, beep, beep.
The horn on the bus goes, Beep, beep, beep,
all through the town.

The money on the bus goes, Clink, clink, clink;
Clink, clink, clink;
Clink, clink, clink.
The money on the bus goes, Clink, clink, clink,
all through the town.

The Driver on the bus says, “Move on back,
I’m smoking crack,” he has a heart attack.
Now the bus is heading for a cliff,
AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee……

The End.

Today, we examine “The Diarrhea Song.” I think you’ll find the ending more appropriately reflects the innumerable verses of this song…

When you’re sliding into first
And your pants begin to burst
Diarrhea, diarrhea

When you’re sliding into two
And your pants are filled with goo
Diarrhea, diarrhea

When you’re sliding into third
And you feel a greasy turd
Diarrhea, diarrhea

When you’re sliding into home
And the paramedics come
And you’re bursting capillaries
From your chronic dysentery
And they try defibrillation
But you’ve died of dehydration
Diarrhea, diarrhea

The End.

I’ve had a lot of schooling in children’s songs. As a child, I sang them, and as an adult, I still sing them. Only louder and more annoyingly. Also, Noelle’s little buds have sung a few of their own.
But being children’s songs, they do tend to get a little boring, so more often than any dignified adult should, I find myself thinking of alternative lyrics, most of which I eventually sing to Gabe, Samara, and Noelle. Take today’s song, for example. “Five Little Monkeys” has also been called “(Insert random number) Little Monkeys”, but I’ll stick to the original – except, of course for the ending. Enjoy.

Five little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
“No more monkeys jumping on the bed!”

Four little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
“No more monkeys jumping on the bed!”

Three little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,
“NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!!!!!”

Two little monkeys jumping on the bed.
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor called Social Services, and now Mama has court-appointed counseling, and is allowed supervised visitation of the little monkeys in a foster home where they are given enough love and attention that they stay off the goddamn bed.

The End.

Though our 6 year-old girl celebrated her birthday in August, I’d forgotten about this one item until I found the scrap of paper it had been written on today.

Being that children are notoriously picky and indecisive, I had a plan for Samara’s 6th birthday dinner. (We do the whole-day birthday thing, perhaps as a buffer of future memory against the growing disappointment with birthdays in general as adulthood approaches.) Anyway, I decided to sit down with Samara and draw up a birthday menu of sorts.
Knowing full well about the aforementioned pickiness and indecisiveness, I decided that I would also try to cover as many bases as possible. I explained to Samara what we were doing, and asked her for her favorite foods; that way, I could put together a reasonable dinner from her list of choices.
And yes, Samara is especially picky and indecisive, as is her brother, both of whom get it from their mother. My wife is the only person I know who would pronounce Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy as, “To be, or not to be, or perhaps some other option”. (True story: One Sunday morning, I decided to make pancakes for the family, and – owing to a recent bout of illness shared by all – I wanted to surprise them with special pancakes. After all, what’s better than pancakes? Why, pancakes with fruit and whipped cream and powdered sugar – yum, yum! After taking inventory of our various fruits, berries and spices, I approached Noelle, Samara, and Gabe, and informed them of the specialness of the emergent pancakes. “You have a choice,” I said. “Plain, Vanilla, Blueberry, Banana, or Apple Cinnamon, any of which can have syrup, powdered sugar, whipped cream, or all three!”
Without missing a beat, my wife replied, “Is there… strawberry?”
So much for my special pancakes.)
So, you can see my caution and premeditation as only reasonable. Samara, perhaps with the literal and (let’s face it) greedy mind of a 5 year-old on the cusp of 6, latched on to the “birthday dinner” part of my preamble, completely skipping the part about a list of different foods, from which we’d choose only one or two. More likely the two ideas fused in her mind into one, incoherent whole.
In any event, here was her professed desire for a birthday dinner:

1. Mashed potatoes
2. Chinese rice
3. Chicken nuggets/poppers (She used them interchangeably)
4. Maybe some gravy (?!?)
5. Brownies
6. Chocolate chip cookies

What a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving smorgasbord to have on your dinner table.